


yet, i love you

by katsukifatale (TrumpetGeek)



Series: yuri!!! on zines [4]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, Embedded Images, Family Feels, Fluff, M/M, Prequel, Weddings, yuuri's about to marry the love of his life and he's living for it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-25
Updated: 2018-06-25
Packaged: 2019-05-25 19:45:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14984267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrumpetGeek/pseuds/katsukifatale
Summary: Yuuri is marrying the love of his life in less than two hours.





	yet, i love you

**Author's Note:**

> written for [yuurizine](http://yuurizine.tumblr.com/), a yuri on ice zine celebrating our beloved sweet boy katsuki yuuri. it was a pleasure being involved in this zine and supporting a couple of great charities!
> 
> this is a pseudo-prequel to my other wedding fic, _ever-fixed mark_! you can definitely read one without the other, but _ever-fixed mark_ is cute and has [incredible art by nae](http://nae812.tumblr.com/post/174652703277/), so.... ;)

 

Yuuri is marrying the love of his life in less than two hours.

 

 

The thought is surreal; all these months of engagement and planning coming down to this one series of moments.  Soon he’ll put on his wedding kimono with the help of his mother and Phichit, and he’ll walk out of his childhood bedroom turned dressing room to meet Viktor for the last time as his fiancé.  Soon he’ll get to slide that familiar golden ring back onto his love’s finger and promise him the rest of forever. Lawfully wedded, until death do them part.

 

 

He’s going to be a husband.

 

 

He’s going to be _Viktor’s_ husband.

 

 

( _God_.)

 

 

He vaguely wonders if maybe he should feel more anxious about it, because anxiety has been part of him for as long as he can remember.  He feels like he carries two versions of himself around everywhere he goes; Yuuri and his anxiety, forever intertwined, moving through life as one solitary unit.  His anxiety has reared its ugly head at the innocuous and the important, threatening to choke him with spiraling thoughts and racing heart without discrimination.

 

 

Today, though, the beast is quiet – there is no dread, no fear, and no doubt.  Yuuri is settled just right inside his own skin, and he knows Viktor is just down the hallway in his old room getting ready with Yuuri’s father, Yakov, and Chris.  His mother has slipped out too, probably to gush over how handsome her new soon to be son-in-law is sure to look in his wedding tux.

 

 

Yuuri glances at the garment bag draped over his desk chair, and then at himself in the mirror, taking in his appearance from his plain black boxer briefs to the open button-up shirt and his inky black hair slicked back from his forehead with gel; he wonders distantly if he looks different now that he’s it’s his wedding day.  Phichit laughs at him from somewhere over his right shoulder, knowing exactly what Yuuri is doing through the connection of Friendship, but Yuuri doesn’t care. He thinks he _does_ look different – there’s a glow, a subtle radiant flush coloring the apples of his cheeks.  The little wrinkles at the corners of his eyes deepen as his mouth invariably curves upward.

 

 

He’s not even dressed yet but he still looks beautiful.

 

 

(A little stupidly, he wonders if it’s the love he’s feeling for Viktor shining through.)

 

 

He meets Phichit’s eyes in the mirror and sees his friend smiling at him, soft and joyful and maybe a little proud.

 

 

“Look at you,” he says, almost reverently.  “You’re marrying _Viktor Nikiforov_ .  Like, _actually_ marrying him and not just pretending with one of his posters.”

 

 

Yuuri groans, his face heating up in embarrassment. “Listen, you are a menace.”

 

 

“I am and you love me.”

 

 

Yeah, he really does.  He smiles back, conceding the point.

 

 

“Oh, but I am putting that in my best man speech.”

 

 

Yuuri rolls his eyes just as his mother comes back into the room, sporting a secretive smile.

 

 

“Vicchan looks incredible and you’re still in your underwear!” she says, making him blush even more.  “Your father is taking him outside, so we better get you ready.”

 

 

In truth he’s nervous.  The garment bag and everything inside of it is representative of all of the things he never really thought he’d get to have, because he never thought he’d deserve them – the love, the happiness, the promise of commitment, all of it.  He knows better now, though.

 

 

His mother dresses him with the same kind of care she puts into everything she does; she helps tighten up the neckline of his solid black kimono, helps him step into the black and white striped hakama.  He catches sight of her face in the mirror as he slips into his mon-tsuki; she looks like a million emotions all at once – there is sadness and pride and joy and satisfaction in her gaze, but most of all there is love.

 

 

It reminds him of when he was small, dancing with his mother in the kitchen after the crush of the lunch rush.  There had been stacks of messy dishes littering the counters waiting to be washed, but she’d foregone them in favor or spinning him in slow, lazy spirals across the hard wood flooring.  He’d been able to stand on the tops of her feet then, gathered up in her soft and loving arms and held up by her strength. Even after he’d become big enough that standing on her feet had probably been uncomfortable, she’d never stopped looking at him like that – like he was the world, and he deserved the _universe_.

 

 

“Minako-san will probably cry when she sees you,” she whispers, her voice shaky with emotion.

 

 

“Viktor will _definitely_ cry when he sees you,” Phichit offers, and Yuuri laughs and laughs and cries.

 

 

Yuuri has spent most of his life thinking about love in the abstract.

 

 

He’d known love in the fond, affectionate look his father would give his mother when he didn’t think she was looking, and he’d seen it in the bento boxes that Yuuko would wake up early to make for Takeshi.  He’d known, objectively, that people loved him, too – he just never felt that he’d deserved it. He’d spent a lot of his time in Detroit searching for ways to be worthy of it – of his friendship with Phichit, of the love of his family and Minako-sensei, of the faith that Celestino had in him as a skater.  It had taken Viktor’s patient, persistent influence for him to realize that being loved by someone wasn’t something he’d had to earn – love, in all it’s forms, is freely given.

 

 

He hadn’t realized it back then, but he certainly knows it now -- the love and support his family and friends have for him is not contingent on how many gold medals he achieves or now many jumps he fails to land; it is not contingent on anything at all.  It exists here in Hasetsu just as it existed in Detroit, and it will follow him to Saint Petersburg and wherever the future may take him, because it is not tied to one place.

 

 

Love is all around him.

 

 

(Love is inside of him, too.)

 

 

Phichit looks at his phone.  “It’s time to go!”

 

 

He walks down the hallway of his childhood home and holds tight onto his mother’s hand like he’d done as a child.  He remembers the way they used to be covered in flour and panko, and the way her apron had been darkened in spots with oil that had splattered out of the frying pan.  She looks different today – a little older, a little softer, dressed up in her fine kimono instead of the inn’s jinbei – but the warmth of her hand in his and the serenity in her smile are one in the same.

 

 

She leads him outside where the cherry blossoms fall like snow, and standing beneath the fall is Viktor.

 

 

Even from the back he looks just as handsome as Yuuri thought he would, gorgeous in his grey wedding tux in a way that punches the breath out of him.

 

 

And he’s all his.

 

 

His mother pats him once on the front of his shoulder, just over the Katsuki family crest embroidered in his mon-tsuki, and then stands back.  She had led him this far, but it’s up to him to continue the journey.

 

 

Viktor remains turned away as he approaches, but he is sure Viktor must hear the haste in his footsteps and the pounding of his heart beneath his ribs.  He comes up close, presses himself to Viktor’s broad back and his forehead to the nape of his neck, reveling in the little shiver and hitched breath. Part of him wants to live in this moment forever, to let the sweet tension of it pull him along, because Viktor’s anticipation is the answer to the thrum beating deep in his chest.

 

 

“Yuuri – “

 

 

“God,” he says wondrously, “I can’t believe I’m marrying you.”

 

 

Viktor turns then, smiling at him so hard his eyes crinkle at the corners and tears already slipping down his flushed cheeks, and reaches out his hand, palm up and open, inviting.  Yuuri falls more in love with his soon to be husband than ever before.

 

 

“I can’t believe it either, zolotse,” he says, the sweet pet name dripping off his tongue in his native language.  He slides a hand up along Yuuri’s jaw, nestling his fingers there along the hot beat of his pulse.

 

 

_Yours, yours, yours,_ Yuuri thinks as their foreheads press together.

 

 

“I love you,” Viktor murmurs warm against his mouth.

 

 

(Yuuri believes it.)

 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! 
> 
> if you liked this, you can also find me [here](http://katsukifatale.tumblr.com/) on my main blog and [here](http://trumpet-geek.tumblr.com/) on my writing blog!


End file.
